


Got It Bad

by tatterwitch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean/Reader - Freeform, F/M, Insecurity, Lack of confidence, Oneshot, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 16:23:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3775354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatterwitch/pseuds/tatterwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a successful hunt, the Winchesters join the reader for a little celebration. When Dean approaches the reader with a proposition, it all seems just a little too good to be true...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Got It Bad

Coincidences were something you didn't believe in.

As a hunter, you'd come to realize that random happenstance and coincidences were rarely 'happy accidents'.

Nine times out of ten, those little commonalities lead you straight to the metaphorical door of a monstrous killer.

So it really wasn't a coincidence when you ran into the infamous Winchester brothers again.

The bar was bustling with the late night crowd.

The dusty wood floor creaked beneath the feet of patrons dancing drunkenly to old, tinny country music and the quick, zig-zagging steps of the waitresses. A shout went up from the pool table's corner as balls cracked into pockets. Money was slapped into hands with mutters.

The place was lit dimly with amber-y light. The lamps overhead swayed with the movements within the upstairs rooms for rent. It really wasn't much of mystery what was happening up there. The sounds of moans and bed-frames squeaking were just muffled by the music and chatter down in the bar.

Then again, you'd always had sharp ears. It was a trait that worked both to your advantage and detriment.

On the one hand, you'd used it to pin-point stealthy werewolves or sneaky vamps. On the other, you'd eavesdropped on many a conversation that left you with burning cheeks and a pit in your stomach.

Tonight was no different.

As you nursed your second rum-and-coke and watched the Winchesters shooting shit with the locals over at the pool table, your ears tuned into a table somewhere behind you. Dean bent over the table, pool cue in hand as he lined up another perfect shot.

"Look at 'er, sittin' 'er fatass all by 'erself."

Your spine stiffened at the words muttered behind your back. The glass between your fingers protested with a soft clinking noise as ice rattled around.

"Think I got a chance with one of them boys she walked in here with?"

The voices were feminine, hushed to liquor-drenched mutters that carried fairly easily. A covert glance into the glass behind the bottles on the bar showed the sources. Two women, both tanned to perfection with artfully-applied eye-shadow and cherry-red lipstick continuously flicked glances between you and the Winchester brothers. Even blurred as the glass was, they were both easily more attractive than you.

You were far from the average hunter. In some ways, that was.

You could track like a bloodhound and shoot a 'shifter's eye out a half-mile away. You could lift dead bodies twice your own size like sacks of potatoes. You could keep up with the best of them and sometimes surpass the best. You were a big girl. You'd never been small by any standards. Your arms were thick with muscle, just as your thighs were. Your waist and hips were wider than other female hunter's usually were. Your cheeks were full and always rosy. Your size was just something you'd always lived with. It didn't make you any less of a hunter, if anything, it helped you slip past unsuspecting monsters and hunters.

None of that ever lessened the sting of the doubt, though.

You were well aware that you weren't conventionally attractive. Painfully so, sometimes.

Like when you relaxed in bars after long hunts or were forced to go undercover in ritzier cases. You tried so hard to ignore the stares and muttered words. Sometimes, though, hunters didn't bother muffling their words. You did your best to shove those memories to the back of your mind.

But it was sort of hard to do that when the mutters continued on behind you.

"She's probably their cousin or coworker or something." One woman whispered.

"Are you kidding? To be related to that? I'd move clear to the next county."

Their titters of laughter sent needles pricking up and down your spine.

Hot shame flooded your cheeks as you ducked your head and let your hair fall over your shoulders.

The stool next to your's scraped across the floor. You didn't need to look up to see who it was.

You recognized the sound of Dean's leather jacket being draped over the back and the faint scent that was uniquely him. He always smelled like gunpowder and smoke and cheap motel soap.

"Hey, Y/N, how're the drinks here?"

God, you could have listened to his voice for hours. It was always husky and deep and produced the most profound flutters in your stomach.

You tucked your hair back behind your ear and finally glanced up. Those wide green eyes crinkled at the corners when they met your's. His lips moved up into his trademark crooked grin.

"They're okay. Just like every other I've ever had."

Another round of giggles burst out behind you. You dropped your gaze and hunched your shoulders, cheeks heating again.

Dean hesitated for a minute, hands flattening over the bar-top.

"You okay?" He sounded gruffer than usual abruptly.

You waved your hand and took a sip of your drink to cover your trembling fingers.

"Great. Where's Sam gotten off to?"

"Headed back to the motel with the night's winnings. He's not big on the whole celebrating thing." Dean raised his hand and ordered a glass of whiskey and a beer.

His eyes flipped back to you after he'd drained the whiskey.

You ran a finger around the rim of your glass.

"That leaves you without a ride, though."

Had he not thought things through? Dean, despite whatever masks and walls he threw up, was exceedingly intelligent. You'd witnessed so yourself during this hunt and the previous one you'd run into each other on. To make such a mistake was unlike him.

Dean seemed flustered suddenly. The tips of his ears pinkened slightly and his eyes dropped before raising again.

"Guess I'll just have to catch a ride with someone else, then."

Of course. That made perfect sense.

Dean was trawling the bar for a night rolling around in bed. From what you heard on the hunters' grapevine, it was par the course for him. You'd never witnessed it, though. The only other hunt you'd shared with the Winchesters had been a wendigo one in the backwoods of Monatana. After clearing the caverns of all evidence and remains, the three of you had parted ways with only exchanged numbers and harried, exhausted good-bye's.

You cleared your throat and hitched your thumb over your shoulder.

"They seem pretty interested." Your voice stuck a little.

Dean's brows pulled tight as he glanced over his shoulder. At his look, a fresh round of giggles exploded behind you.

The sound grated on your eardrums.

Everything seemed to loud and uncomfortable all of a sudden. You needed to put this all behind you. You needed to be on the road with the windows down and the night air rushing over your skin. You needed to be anywhere but here, watching as Dean got his squeeze on.

You slapped a bill down on the bar and grabbed up your jacket. Your arms stabbed through the sleeves while more murmurs and laughter made your face burn darker.

"I'll see you around, Dean. Sam has my number if y'all need help again." You turned, swiftly making for the door.

Keys jingled in your hand as the door's cool glass met your palms. The temperature eased the worst of your warmth. Outside was even better. The night sky was clear, stars shining as your breath plumed upward.

You'd just unlocked the car when the bar's door swung open, music seeping out before becoming muffled again as it shut.

"Y/N!" Dean's voice echoed slightly off of the trees and hills.

You didn't bother looking up.

"G'night, Dean. Good luck with those two. They looked like a handful."

Footsteps ground the gravel behind you.

"What? Y/N-" Confusion soaked his words. "I don't-"

You turned, keys clenched as you tried to keep your voice from shaking.

This was nothing new. You'd never entertained the thought of the likes of Dean Winchester ever wanting to spend the night with you. Or really, do anything more than give you a smile when the situation called for it. You just weren't that girl. You weren't pretty enough. You weren't small enough. You were just...Really, you were too much. Guys like Dean didn't go for girls like you. It was plain and simple.

You released a breath, watching it mist up in a pale cloud before offering him a shaky smile.

"Go, have fun. Celebrate. Hunt's over and all that. I'm sure they'd be more than willing to give you a lift back to the motel."

Dean's brow wrinkled as he frowned. He looked genuinely baffled.

"Why would I-"

God, did you have to spell it out? Had he had more alcohol than you'd first thought?

"Dean, you're, well, _you_. Those two obviously were into you and they were very pretty. I'm sure they'd, uh, take good care of you. Just, go on back in. I'm headed out of town, anyway."

You watched as Dean's face went from baffled to thoughtful and back again before he rolled his eyes.

"I wanted a ride from you, Y/N."

You blinked.

"Oh. Why didn't you just say so? I could drop you off before leaving."

Something in his green eyes made the rest of your words freeze on your tongue. He looked mildly irritated and exasperated as confusion still underlined his head-shake.

"It wasn't just a ride I was hoping for."

Now it was your turn to be confused. What more could he want? Your number? Maybe Sam hadn't shared it with him or something. Or maybe he'd accidentally left one of his weapons in your trunk. Or maybe he needed your help with another case somewhere.

"I'm sorry. I don't get it. Did you need something or-?"

He laughed humorlessly and scrubbed a hand over his face before striding over.

Closer and closer he came, until his boots fairly knocked against your toes. You had no choice but to lean back against the car to keep some semblance of personal space.

He glanced up from beneath his lashes like he was embarrassed to talk. It was odd. Dean was never shy or quiet. If anything, he was the louder of the brothers. Seeing him so...Shy was jarring.

He seemed to shake himself, raising his chin until the confident spark grew in his eye again.

"I was hoping you'd come back to the motel with me."

"Oh. Did you and Sam have another case you wanted help with?"

He groaned, leaning forward to plant one palm against the roof of your car. The movement placed him close to your face, _too_ close.

The freckles across his nose and cheeks highlighted the angles of his face and the rings of his irises. A heavy exhale sent his warm breath skating across your cheeks.

"I was hoping that you'd give me a ride back to the motel room and I'd finally get to kiss you. And, well, other things."

You froze in place, waiting for the punch-line or for the inevitable laughter. When it didn't come, you shook your head.

"Very funny, Dean. You can stop trying to yank my chain, now."

His head jerked back slightly like you'd slapped him.

"What?"

"Dean, seriously. I get it. It's funny, I guess. Others have tried it before. I know the shtick."

"Shtick-"

"God, do I have to play along this far?" Your voice cracked a little. _Just spit it out, Y/N_ , you thought. Then you can leave and ditch his number.

"Guys like you are not interested in girls like me. Girls like me do not get to spend the night with guys like you. You don't want me like that. No one really ever has. I've heard the song and dance before. Okay? Go ahead. Laugh now. I know you're dying to."

Something akin to pity washed over Dean's features and it was the last straw.

Your resolve snapped and you could feel tears building behind your eyes. The driver's side door squeaked open beneath your hands before you climbed in and slammed it behind you. Swallowing harshly, you rolled the window down and jerked your hand at the other side.

"You want a ride or not, Winchester?"

"I-"

"I swear to God, you try and say any more lines and I'll leave your ass here in the parking lot. Either get in and shut up or let me go."

Dean clapped his mouth shut angrily and climbed into the passenger seat.

The ride to the motel was tense.

You blinked furiously to keep the tears at bay as headlights flashed past.

The Impala sat parked in front of their room, sleek black paint glistening from the earlier rain. You cut the ignition and climbed out to retrieve the last of your things from your room before checking out.

You just wanted to get on the road and put this all behind you.

The tiny rubber stopper got shoved between the motel's door and its frame before you crossed to the desk and shoved your still-damp clothes into your duffel. Half-way through zipping up the bag, the door was shoved wide.

Your hand went to the gun at the waist of your pants instinctively. Dean's broad shoulders brushed past the frame as he kicked the stopper out before stomping across the room.

You slid the strap of your bag over your shoulder and made for the door. Dean blocked your path, face absolutely thunderous. You pushed at his arm and tried to skirt past.

"Let me go, Dean."

"No," The word was growled in a low, clipped tone that had shivers skating down your spine.

He stalked forward, leaving you nowhere to go but backward until your back met the wall. This close, he became almost overwhelming. He was all you could smell and see. His broad frame blocked out everything except for his face and your periphery.

The scent of rain and smoke clung to his jacket like a second skin. He ducked until he'd caught your eye.

"Listen, I don't know who those chicken-shits were that treated you as a joke. I'm sorry I don't. I'd like to really ask what they were thinking, letting a girl like you slip away. And, you know, maybe kick the crap out of them."

Dean's voice was low.

"Anyway. You're not some prank, Y/N. I wasn't kidding about anything I said. I've wanted you from the minute we started hunting that wendigo in Montana. God, you've been on my mind for weeks-"

"Dean-" You choked out. "You _can't_ -I'm not-"

One of his hands came up. His fingers were gentle despite his gruff and angry demeanor as he traced the curve of your cheek.

Against every better thought, your eyes fluttered as you leaned into the touch.

"You are, though. You're smart and funny, downright hot if you ask me. Shit, we got off that mountain and you were all covered in mud and dirt and you said you just wanted to shower for an hour. All I could think about was that. Well, and me joining you. You've been on my brain for weeks. I want you, Y/N. Bad."

Dean Winchester did not want you. He couldn't.

There was no way in Heaven, in hell, or otherwise. There just wasn't.

"You can't, Dean. There's no way. I'm not pretty or small or-"

He was suddenly pressing even closer, body lining up against your own. When his hips rolled against your's, there was absolutely no denying the fact that he was sporting a raging hard-on.

You couldn't stifle the gasp that burst from your lips as he bent down and placed his mouth to your ear. Hot breath tickled over the sensitive skin there as he spoke.

"I can. Y/N, I've got it bad for you. _Real bad_."

God, his voice was all sorts of sinful as he nosed along the line of your throat and then back up.

He hovered a scant inch from your mouth, eyes flicking down and then up to meet your's.

"R-really?" You squeaked.

A sort of exasperated smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he huffed out a laugh.

"Oh, yeah. The worst." Dean took a breath before inching closer. "What's your pleasure, huh, Y/N? You can still go. I'm not gonna shove myself on you if you're really not into me."

A blush trekked its way up your cheeks.

Dean, _Dean Winchester_ , wanted you. _You_.

You bit at your bottom lip and carefully slid the strap of your bag back down your shoulder.

The duffel landed with a thud at your feet. Hesitantly, you nodded, lifting one hand to trace the edge of his jacket.

Dean's hand on your cheek shifted. His thumb soothed your lip from between your teeth as he ducked his head. His lips were warm and every bit as soft as they looked. They brushed against your's, lingering and teasing. When you followed after him with a sigh, you felt him smile against your mouth. Dean's kisses were slow and heated and every bit as deliberate as any of his movements.

His free hand swept to your hip, thumb sliding beneath the material of your shirts to dabble at the skin there. He tasted like whiskey and mint, the two flavors somehow combining into a heady pairing that made you gasp against his mouth.

He hummed when your fingers carded through his hair. Your hands dropped to push at his jacket and overshirt. The articles slipped from his shoulders to pool around his elbows before he shook them off onto the floor. His fingers brushed your chest as he unzipped your coat and began unbuttoning your flannel. His hands ran down your arms as he chased the material to your fingertips. Slowly, he trailed back up before skimming down your sides. His thumbs brushed the sides of your breasts before one slid around and down to cup your ass.

With a quick pull, Dean lifted you. You squeaked against his lips, one hand flying to his shoulder as your legs wrapped around his waist. Through the move, his lips never broke from your own.

Your back pressed up against the wall. The surface was cooler than Dean's body, providing a sharp contrast that had you gasping. Between the wall and Dean, heat began churning in your belly before spreading out to your limbs. The warmth flooded to your fingertips and toes and made them tingle. Dean's body had a little more give than the wall. His chest rumbled beneath your touches when he hummed into a kiss.

You could feel the muscles in his legs and arms shiver and shift under his skin and clothes. Dean broke the kiss and trailed his lips down the line of your jaw. Teeth gently tugged at the lobe of your ear. A surprised noise left your lips, bordering on a moan. His lips eased up in a smile against your neck. His hands never ceased roaming over your thighs, ass, back, or sides.

Sometimes, he'd palm the back of your head to angle you for a deeper kiss. A sort of hazy need fogged your mind. No one had ever made you feel so many things all at once. You wanted... _Needed_ to touch Dean. Needed to feel every bit of him, taste every inch of skin, hear his voice in your ear. You needed _him_.

"Dean," His name was a pleading whine as you pulled at his t-shirt and belt-loops.

Words couldn't articulate what you wanted. Or at least, you couldn't properly transfer any to your mouth right then.

Dean's lips paused on your neck, his tongue dipping into the tiny hollow of your throat when you swallowed thickly.

"Yeah?" His breath gusted over the wet marks he'd left and made you shiver.

" _Want you_."

That elicited a low sound that resembled a growl. Another shiver worked its way down your spine. But Dean only tightened his grip on your thighs and pressed closer. The front of his jeans meshed with the juncture of your legs. A burst of heat spiralled outward when he lazily rocked his hips. The friction was all at once too much and not enough. It wasn't long before the slow rubbing proved to be more frustrating than pleasing.

Your fingers pulled at Dean's hair and shirt.

"What d'you want?" Dean's voice was huskier, almost a growl as he pulled back.

His lips were swollen from the kisses, reddened and parted around stammering breaths. His eyelids drooped at half-mast, irises a dark olive color that screamed lust.

"You."

His body jerked against your's. The shiver that rolled through him was palpable. Very, very slowly, Dean let your legs slide from his waist. By the time your feet hit the floor, his lips were locked with your's again.

Dean was too good at all of this.

Every brush of lips and tongue, ever caress of fingers and palms, every touch and breath and word and movement only served to make your mind haze even more. His hands slid beneath the hem of your tank-top, palms pressing against your sides as he pushed the material up and over your head. A low, punched out sound left him when he turned his gaze to your chest.

You could feel your cheeks heat. Your chest had always been a point of frustration. Bigger breasts were cumbersome and often proved more irritating than anything else. Your underwear was never a fancy affair due to shopping restrictions. And, belatedly, you were embarrassed by the plain material and lack of frills.

Dean, however, seemed in complete disagreement.

His lower lip tucked between his teeth before his tongue crept out over it. His hands inched their way back up from where he'd settled them over your hips. Just as he cupped your breasts in his palms, he slanted his lips over your own. The kiss muffled your moan when his thumbs brushed over your nipples through the cups of your bra. You made a sound of disappointment when Dean pulled back.

Your ire was quickly quelled when he began trailing open-mouthed kisses down your neck and shoulders. Little, gentle nips and bites accompanied ever kiss. His tongue soothed away any sting.

Your head kicked back, thudding into the wall as his tongue traced the edge of your bra. Fingers dipped beneath the bands at your shoulders, causing the material to loosen. One of his hands skirted around your back and tugged at the clasp. And then all that was holding your bra up was his hand and mouth.

Dean's eyes flicked up as he draws away enough to let the article flutter to the floor. His hands were gentle, though the skin of his palms and fingertips was roughened from holding weapons for so many years. It all created a delicious sort of friction against your bare skin that had you seeing stars. The heat of his mouth and the wet slide of his tongue only added to the heady sensations.

Your hands combed through his hair, dropping carefully, fingers clenching in his shirt to tug it over his head. A low noise escaped your throat at the first glimpse of his bare torso.

Dean was solid. He was honed into a thick wall of strength from decades of a hunter's life. His skin was flecked and streaked with white in some places. The old scars fell in random patterns. Freckles were scattered over his shoulders, arms, and chest. The anti-possession tattoo over his heart stood out starkly against the tan of his skin. Muscles played beneath all of that skin, rippling in his arms and shoulders.

You jumped when his nose nuzzled at your belly.

Embarrassed heat flooded your cheeks as you tried to twist away. Dean made a reprimanding noise and pressed kisses over the softness there as he dropped to his knees.

Your eyes fluttered open when fingers began working at the button of your jeans. When the two halves parted, he leaned forward, hot breath teasing your skin. Lips tickled across the edge of your panties. One of his hands ducked around to the small of your back and retrieved your gun. The weapon was shoved atop the desk chair before Dean started pulling at the laces on your boots. Then, your jeans were being tugged down your legs. The dark, frayed material dropped to the floor and pooled around your feet as Dean rose off of his knees.

This kiss was slower than the others.

Those before it had been hot and quick, and all about testing the waters. This kiss was slow and the flames gradually became a pit of magma that surged through your veins with a heat that proved to be undeniable. Hands wandered over bare skin and fingers skimmed. Lips and tongues made warm, wetted paths. The sound of breathing was the only noise in the room besides the dim murmurs of a television somewhere close-by.

It sounded incredibly cliche, but, as your hands ran over Dean's chest, there was no other way to describe the feel of him beside satin over steel. Every tiny move he made had the muscles beneath his skin rippling and rolling. Heat poured off of him.

Dean wasn't shy.

He let you know what he liked with hums and pleased gasps and little groans that had your blood singing. He was attentive, learning what touches and the places that had you murmuring and purring. When your fingers tugged at the zipper of his jeans and the halves parted, you slipped your palms along the front of his thighs. A flair of surprise made you gasp. Dean had _totally_ gone commando.

Your fingertips skated over smooth skin and fine hair before tracing the lines of his hips. Dean groaned into the kiss, breaking away with a wet noise as his head dropped onto your shoulder. His lips pressed against the skin of your throat as his body tensed.

It was all the warning you had before he whirled into motion.

Arms banded around your waist, air teased your bared skin. Then, your back met something soft and you bounced with a squeak. The bedspread was slightly coarse against your skin. You missed the feel of Dean against you. With a shimmy, you propped yourself onto your elbows and glanced up. Your blood fairly boiled.

Dean knelt at the edge of the bed, face flushed. The freckles across his cheeks stood out against the pink color. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his lips parted. Something purely predatory glinted in the depths of his green eyes. Shivers tripped down your spin as his fingers circled your ankles.

You yelped loudly when he jerked, tugging you to the edge of the mattress. The startled noise turned into a pleased hum as his hands skimmed up, up, up. His thumbs lazily brushed over the undersides of your breasts before he trailed back down slowly. Dean settled more comfortably on the floor and lifted one of your legs. You swallowed, mouth suddenly gone dry. Lips gently pressed to your ankle, calf, knee...Dean showered your thighs in tiny, open-mouthed kisses.

He only stopped when he reached the edge of your panties. By then, your hips were squirming against the blankets. Warmth curled low in your belly as goosebumps broke out over your skin. He placed your foot back on the floor and reached for the other.

This time, Dean pulled out all of the stops. He nipped and sucked and lapped and kissed. And by the time he reached the juncture of your thighs, you were shaking in his hands. That was before his fingers hooked in the waist of your panties as he glanced up.

His brows raised ever-so-slightly, as though he were awaiting the go-ahead. He remained still until you nodded breathlessly, eyes wide.

The material was drawn down your legs quickly and tossed over his shoulder. On instinct, your knees pressed together. Dean smiled against your thigh as he began lavishing them with attention once more. Under his ministrations, you relaxed. Little sparks of pleasure flared with ever touch of his lips and fingers. Higher and higher he climbed. Until his every breath tickled the most sensitive parts of you.

Only then did he pause; moving closer until your thighs draped over his shoulders.

"Dean-" You barely managed to get his name out before he closed the distance with a long, slow lick.

Fire burned along every nerve ending as your head kicked back. A wild gasping noise issued from between your lips. Dean groaned at the sound, the hum of his voice only added to the sensations. Hot, wet kisses teased along the spots where your legs joined with your sex. His finger swept over you, pressing gently before retreating.

You mewled as he drew back.

Dean flicked a glance up at you then at his fingers. A predatory sort of smile slid over his lips.

"You want this. You want _me_."

Your hips jerked as you nodded quickly. _God, yes_.

You wanted every single bit of Dean.

Dean's head ducked between your thighs. Hot air hit your skin and then his mouth was on you. Your hips arched off of the bed as a high keening noise left your throat. If you hadn't been so enraptured with the feel of everything, you probably would've blushed hard enough to turn red. You just couldn't bring yourself to care.

Dean teased you relentlessly. There was nothing sweet or slow about what he was doing. His tongue circled over your clitoris mercilessly as his fingers dug into your thighs with enough force to bruise. His lips circled before he sucked, flicking his tongue.

Your eyes flew wide as stars burst before them. Your body trembled as white-hot pleasure burned through every nerve in your body. An embarrassingly loud whimper slipped from between your teeth as you shook.

Dean pulled away only to gently kiss your thigh as he gazed up.

Holy hell, no one had any right to look as sinful as he did then.

His lips were swollen, slicked with the remains of your pleasure. The flush across his cheeks had spread to his neck and shoulders. Sweat made his skin shine. His chest rose and fell in heavy breaths. His hair was spiked from your fingers. His jeans hung low on his hips, revealing the dusting of hair that lead down from his navel.

You shivered with an aftershock and reached for him. Impatiently, your hands shoved at his pants. He kicked them away and fished in one of the pockets.

While you meshed your lips with his, foil ripped in the heated silence. Then, the two of you rolled until you were draped over Dean.

Dean's hands helped your position yourself over his lap. His lower lip tucked between his teeth at the first movement. His cock nudged at your entrance, making the two of you gasp out loud. Carefully, you eased down, eyes sliding shut at the sensation.

"Y/N," Dean groaned, fingers tightening over your hips.

His pupils were blown wide, barely any green visible around the dark centers. His mouth opened on a long sound as you shifted experimentally. Your mind hazed over almost instantly at the heady pleasure.

Together, the two of you moved. Dean occasionally tugged you down to catch your lips with his. His sweat-slicked chest brushed over your breasts when that happened, eliciting tiny sounds from the both of you. His hands moved from your hips to your thighs, ass to back, before repeating the circuit again.

It wasn't long before any sort of rhythm was lost.

Dean heaved himself up and wrapped his arms around you. His face buried itself in your neck as he sucked a mark into your skin. Your name fell from his lips, interspersed with heady hums and growls.

You could feel your body gearing up once more, heat fanning and curling in your belly.

" _Dean_ -" You gasped, biting your lip when he bucked his hips up. "Dean, 'm _close_."

"Same here." The words were punched out.

He worked a hand between your rolling bodies and rubbed at your clitoris. The heat exploded once again. With a cry of his name, you came around him.

Dean groaned, low and broken. His head kicked back as his eyes fluttered shut. His hand cranked down on your hip bruisingly. His body shuddered against your's, breaths coming fast and hard.

He eventually collapsed backward, tugging you with him. Once he'd taken care of the condom, he dropped back down beside you.

His arm looped around your waist and jerked your body to his. A lazy, satisfied sort of grin eased over his face.

"Told you I had it bad for you, Y/N."


End file.
